


Wait For Me Under The Mistletoe

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Drunkenness, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hannor, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Rehabilitation, Santa Hank, hankcon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: When Ben Collins collapses with a mild heart attack, Hank is asked to play Santa at the Detroit Police Department's Christmas gift drive. All he can think about is Cole, and he refuses to take the job until Connor convinces him otherwise.On the day of the event, Hank has to face the grief of losing his son all over again as he sees the other parents happy with their children. Unable to cope, he self-medicates with alcohol and becomes the drunk Santa he feared he would be.Connor steps in and saves Hank from humiliating himself, but Hank snaps at Connor, spilling jealous thoughts while drunk. As he sobers up, he realizes he needs to kick the habit if he has any chance of ever deserving to be with the android he loves.





	Wait For Me Under The Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> I wrestled with this fic for about a week now, and it turned out to be non-explicit. I like how wholesome it is, though, like a Christmas movie. I hope you enjoy it!

Ben Collins stood at his desk, resplendent in the worn Santa costume that was the tradition at the DPD. He wore it well, Hank thought, even if he didn't give a crap about Christmas at all. In fact, he wanted to forget about the whole damn season. 

Unfortunately, Connor seemed to be into Christmas in a way that made Hank sigh. It was to be expected, of course—the newly deviant android hadn't exactly suffered through over fifty of them like he had, and he didn't have the kind of painful memories regarding the holiday that Hank had to live with every time he heard a Christmas song. Cole's big shining eyes haunted him whenever he saw a kid at the mall begging his parent for this or that toy, and all he wanted to do was hide away until everything went back to normal. He pretended to be busy with a report on his computer as Connor fawned over Ben, a pang of jealousy hitting him as Connor adjusted his fake beard. Even Gavin and Chris were laughing, and Hank wondered if he was gonna have to get out of here and go to the bar.

"I don't… feel so good, guys," Ben muttered, and then he lurched forward, collapsing onto the desk. A dozen hands clamored for him, and Connor was calling for assistance wirelessly, his LED circling red. Hank sat at his desk and stared, shock coursing through him as the EMTs rushed in and carried Ben out on a stretcher.

Just another reason to hate the holiday season. Someone always got sick or died.

***

"He's going to be okay." Connor sounded more like he was trying to comfort himself than Hank, but Hank appreciated the android's concern as he sat in the hospital hallway, arms crossed, the orange plastic chair digging into his back. "He's suffered a mild heart attack. They're going to keep him for a few days."

"Good." Hank said. He wasn't feeling so hot himself, his own chest seeming to ache in solidarity with Ben. Or maybe it was the hospital. The last time he'd been anywhere near a medical center was when Cole had died, and the wounds were still so fresh, the smell of sanitizer bringing back memories he'd hoped he'd never think about again. The half-assed Christmas decorations weren't helping either, another reminder of the fact that everyone was cheerful this time of year while he got to spend it with ghosts. 

"Let's get the fuck outta here, Connor." Hank stood up and walked to the exit as Ben's family arrived, nodding to Ben's wife. He was in good hands. There was no need for Hank to torture himself any further.

Connor walked alongside him, saying nothing, but offering him a soft smile as Hank glanced over. Perhaps the android knew more than he was letting on, but it was always hard to know if Connor was being oblivious or empathetic. The deviant was learning a lot about human habits, but he wasn't a mindreader.

Regardless, he hoped Connor cared. He didn't know how he was going to get through the season without it.

***

Hank was not amused when he arrived at his desk the next morning to find a Santa costume folded over his chair. He took it and thrust it into Connor's arms like it smelled, almost pushing the android away with it. Connor cocked his head a little, his eyes asking the questions.

"Get this crap outta here, Connor. We've got work to do," Hank complained.

"Not so fast." Hank spun around to see Fowler standing on the steps leading up to his office. "We need a Santa for the DPD Christmas gift drive, and since Ben's out for the season, you're it."

"Fuck no!" Hank's anger flared, a fiery pit of despair, terror, and frustration bubbling to the surface all at once. "I am not dressin' up as Santa for anyone! Get Connor or Gavin to do it!"

"Do they look like Santa to you?" Fowler retorted. "Hank, this is for charity. The reputation of the DPD relies on us putting effort into our outreach programs. I can't send some half-assed Santa—donations will drop, and the kids at the children's hospital will suffer. Is that what you want?"

"You know why I can't fuckin' do this!" Hank snapped. "The answer is no, and that's final." He turned his back to Fowler and almost bumped into Connor on the way out of the bullpen. He needed space to think. He needed to get away from the pressure and the pain of Christmas. From Cole's smile and the sound of his laughter that seemed to follow him around wherever he went. He'd still believed in Santa when he died, for God's sake. How could he possibly entertain kids and not think of his own son? Why couldn't everyone else see that they were asking too much?

***

He was up to his third double shot of whiskey by the time Connor strolled into Jimmy's Bar. Hank buried his head in his hands, both grateful and ashamed to see his partner. He knew he'd let everyone down, but how could he sit in a mall and listen to kids tell him what they wanted for Christmas? It was a disaster waiting to happen. The last thing anyone wanted was an angry, drunk Santa representing the Detroit Police Department. If breaking Perkins' nose hadn't been the last straw, this would be the thing that made him lose his badge.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Hank snapped as Connor opened his mouth to speak. "My decision is final."

"I understand, Hank. I didn't come here to convince you. I simply wanted to confirm you were all right." Connor put a hand on his arm reassuringly, and Hank sighed. His android partner was still a little wooden at times, but there was no denying how sweet and sincere he could be. 

"I guess Fowler isn't too pleased with me, huh?" Hank turned his empty glass over and paid his tab. He slipped a nice tip in for Jimmy, who'd listened to him bitch about Fowler's insensitivity for the best part of an hour.

Connor took Hank's arm to steady him as he stood up, and Hank was about to brush him off when the room lurched a little and he realized he'd drunk more than he'd intended. Connor must have scanned him and noticed his blood alcohol level, but he could hardly complain. Connor was just looking out for him, and it was nice, even if it could be annoying and intrusive at times.

"He appeared displeased, but Detective Reed has offered to step into the role of Santa," Connor explained.

"Gavin? Ugh. Those poor kids. That fucker will do anything to suck up to Fowler. He's gonna be the worst Santa we've ever had." Hank put his arm around Connor, leaning on him as he was guided out to the car. Connor opened the passenger side door and deposited him into the seat before going around to the driver's side. He started the engine and Hank leaned back against the headrest, enjoying the warm glow of being more than a little tipsy.

"There aren't a lot of options, Lieutenant," Connor observed. "The event is tomorrow. We need a Santa."

"You could do it," Hank suggested.

"I have already volunteered to be an elf," Connor explained. "Even less people were willing to wear the striped tights and green tunic, but I thought it would be a good opportunity to experience the spirit of Christmas first-hand."

"Striped tights, eh?" Hank grinned, imagining Connor in a tight pair of pantyhose that hugged his ass. A shame he wouldn't be there to see it. He had work to do, and if he wasn't involved in the event, Fowler would insist he pick up the duties of the officers who were participating. He'd probably end up on some routine patrol, telling teenagers to get back on the sidewalk. Going to the event would be better, but…

What was he thinking? He couldn't participate. Cole's ghost would haunt him. It would be nothing short of sheer torture to watch those parents happy with their children, thinking about everything he'd lost. It wasn't worth it. Not even for Connor's fine ass in tight pantyhose.

They passed a sidewalk Santa who waved to them, and Connor waved back enthusiastically. Hank sighed as he imagined Gavin as Santa. He didn't look the part at all, and no fake beard and wing were going to hide his red-ringed eyes or jumpy manner. Worse, he'd get to see Connor dressed up as an elf. Gavin claimed he was straight, but Hank had caught him glancing at Connor on more than a couple of occasions. Hank was pretty sure Connor would never look Gavin's way, but then he doubted Connor would ever give him a second glance, either.

A man could dream, though, and appreciate the finer things in life like the perfect android CyberLife had dropped into his lap. He'd feared Connor would leave the DPD after deviating, but he'd stayed on as Hank's partner, a fact Hank was grateful for every day.

"You're gonna… be there all day?" Hank asked. "With Gavin?"

"Someone has to ensure the Detective behaves, Hank."

"Mm." Hank hated the idea of Connor going with Gavin to the event more and more as his buzz wore off. Maybe he should be Santa after all. Connor was always urging him to move forward. There was never going to be a good time to tear the band-aid off, but Connor would be there. He'd understand if Hank needed to take a breather, or sneak a bottle of whiskey into Santa's log cabin. Well, maybe not the latter. But he'd be by Hank's side for moral support. He'd respect Hank for putting his heart on the line to help the kids.

Hank laughed inwardly at himself. He really was thinking about doing this to impress Connor, wasn't he? What a fool he'd become for his pretty android partner. He was wrapped around Connor's little finger, and he hoped Connor hadn't figure out the power he held, or Hank was doomed.

"You're smiling," Connor pointed out. "Is there something you'd like to share, Lieutenant?"

"I was just thinkin' how goofy you're gonna look in that costume," Hank observed. "I wish I could be there to see it. In fact, I'm wondering if I should."

Connor turned to him with shining eyes full of enthusiasm and Hank knew he'd made a terrible mistake. "Really? I'd like that very much, Hank." 

Hank regretted every word, knowing there was absolutely no way on Earth he could back out now. "I said I was thinking about it. You know why this is hard for me."

"I know. It's about Cole, isn't it?" Connor took a hand off the steering wheel and placed it on Hank's arm. "Seeing all those happy children and their parents can't be easy for you, but it might be a good thing for you to face." He squeezed Hank's forearm and Hank nodded, thinking he should have made that last whiskey a double. 

"I dunno, Connor…"

"Hank." His name on Connor's lips, in that soft voice, always made him weak, and he felt the last of his common sense die a lonely death in the back of his mind. "If you need to take a break, you can let me know. I'm your partner. I've got your back."

Hank nodded, his final braincell bidding him a fond farewell as he surrendered. "All right, you've roped me in. I'll call Fowler and let him know I'll do it."

***

The mall was far busier than Hank had anticipated. He'd allowed himself one drink before squeezing into the Santa outfit, and Connor had wrapped garland around the sleeves and pant-legs to hide the fact the suit had been made for a smaller man. Hank peeked out from Santa's log cabin (a hastily constructed shed covered in Christmas decorations that also served as a dressing room) to see throngs of children lined up with their parents.

Hank leaned up against the wall and let out a long sigh. "I dunno if I can do this, Connor." Connor was still dressing behind a screen, and he emerged as Hank was panicking, eyeing the box in the corner that contained a bottle of whiskey he'd snuck in. Hank looked up to see Connor dressed in candy cane pantyhose that clung to his legs, the elf tunic barely covering his ass at all. It was borderline obscene, in Hank's opinion, but he sure wasn't complaining. The tunic was low cut, the V-neck showing Connor's perfect neck and hairless chest. He was pretty sure the outfit had been designed for a woman, but it looked good on Connor. More than good. Hank's mouth was pretty dry, and he was sure it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

"You can do this," Connor soothed. He adjusted Hank's hat with a smile. "There. You look perfect, Hank. A picture perfect Santa."

Hank couldn't help but smirk at the compliment. "All right, then. Let's get on with it before the stage fright takes over." He opened the door to the cabin and stepped outside to cheering from the gathered crowd. He sat in Santa's rocking chair and beckoned forward the first child. On the other side of the stage, Connor was collecting gift donations for the hospital, smiling widely at every new toy he was handed and bending over to place it in the box, his tunic riding up to show Hank (and nobody else) a perfect view of his peachy bubble butt.

Hank cleared his throat. This was quite possibly the last time on Earth he ever wanted to have inappropriate thoughts. Thankfully, they disappeared immediately as he looked at the child climbing up onto his lap.

The boy looked just like Cole. Not really, but there were similarities in his haircut, and he had those same piercing blue eyes Hank knew were his own when he'd seen them on Cole. Hank froze, feeling like he was holding onto a ghost, his dead son that he thought he'd never see again…

"Uh," Hank muttered, starting to panic. "What's your name, little boy?" _Please be anything but Cole_ , he pleaded mentally. _Don't be this cruel, God._

"Col—Colin," the boy said, and Hank's heart resumed beating, racing to the point where he felt a little dizzy.

"What do you want for Christmas, Colin?" Hank knew he just had to get through this, and then he could signal to Connor that he needed to use the bathroom. He needed to get back in the cabin and take a swig of whiskey. He'd be all right if he could do that. Not so much to get drunk, just enough to take the edge off.

By this point, Connor had realized something was wrong. His eyes were set on Hank, and he took a gift donation without so much as a thank you. His pupils were blown out, as if he sensed a threat. Perhaps he noticed how much the boy looked like Cole, too.

"I want a GameStation 5," the little boy said. "My daddy won't get me one. He's so mean. I hate my dad."

"Hey, don't say that," Hank managed, but his throat constricted before he could get the words out. He set the boy down and leaned to whisper in his ear, his voice barely a rasp. "Santa only brings gifts to good little girls and boys." The toddler gave him a dirty look and raced back to his mother, who took his hand and walked away.

Connor approached, placing a gentle hand on Hank's shoulder. "Why don't you get a glass of water, Hank? I'll talk to the children and tell them a story while you're gone. I have a lot of Christmas tales in memory."

"Thank you," Hank muttered, getting up from the rocking chair. Connor shot him a worried glance as he hastened back to the hut, closing the door behind him with a sturdy thud. He opened the box and pulled out the paper bag, unscrewing the lid and raising the whiskey bottle to his lips.

A drunk mall Santa. This was what his life had come to. Hank realized he'd hit rock bottom, and one gulp turned into a few before he wiped his mouth and put the bottle back, noting with horror it was almost half empty. He was going to embarrass the entire DPD, and shame himself in front of Connor to boot. Why had he let himself agree to this?

He glanced at the door, hoping Connor would come in so he could confess his sins and be freed from his role, but backup never came and he realized his best shot was braving the crowd while trying to act as sober as he could. He grabbed some breath spray from his jacket pocket to cover up the smell of whiskey and opened the door, walking back to his seat just as Connor was finishing up the tale of Santa's reindeer.

Connor stood up and leaned in to whisper into Hank's ear. "Are you all right, Lieutenant?"

"Yeah." Hank sat down, hoping Connor wasn't scanning his breath. Minty fresh breath might fool humans, but Connor was designed to root out the truth in any investigation, and he hoped Connor wasn't running an analysis as he walked back to the donation line, those fine pantyhose begging to be torn off.

Bad enough he was drunk. He didn't need to be horny _and_ drunk. He looked back at the kids and beckoned the next one forward. The buzz made it easier to get through the kids' requests, and there was something pleasant about being around children after so long avoiding them like the plague. Most of them were kind, and didn't mind the fact that he was starting to struggle to form words into coherent sentences.

Unfortunately, after an hour or so, he needed to piss. He signaled to Connor that he needed a break and the android came bounding over, merry in his enjoyment of the season. Well, at least someone was happy.

Hank was about to say as much when he stood up and the room spun. He fell into Connor's arms and the assembled crowd gasped. Connor slipped an arm around him, leading him to the back room. "Santa's just tired," he explained to the onlookers. "He needs a rest."

Hank didn't protest as Connor led him inside the hut and sat him down on a wooden chair. "Your blood alcohol level is—"

"Don't lecture me," Hank snapped. "You wanted me to do this, and by damn, I did it, even though that kid looked just like him…" He buried his head in his hands, hating the way the walls wouldn't stay still. "I'm sorry, Con. Sorry…"

"The DPD needs a Santa. It's too late to call Detective Reed now. He's already covering a patrol route."

"Fuck Detective Reed!" Hank was sick of hearing that name. "That fucking prick thinks he's better than me. Guess he is. At least he's not a sad old fuckin' drunk."

"Hank. Look at me." Hank reluctantly opened his eyes to see Connor down on his knees in front of him, eyes wide with sincere concern. He looked away, tired and ashamed. "It's all right. I shouldn't have pushed you to participate."

"It's not your fault. You shouldn't have to put up with me. You deserve better," Hank slurred. "He wants you, Connor. Gavin acts like he hates you, but I know for a fact he wants to tap that ass."

Connor narrowed his eyes. "Lieutenant, you're drunk."

"Well no shit, Sherlock. Glad CyberLife invented a million-dollar state-of-the-art detective robot to tell me that." Hank noticed a flash of hurt in Connor's eyes, and he regretted his words instantly. "Look, I didn't mean… jus' get me some water, would you?"

Connor walked to the door, and Hank knew he'd deserve it if Connor never returned. Why had he gone and said those things? He liked Connor. Respected him. Not that the android would know it from the way he'd been acting.

Connor returned shortly with a bottle of water. "Drink this. You'll feel better." He twisted open the lid of the bottle with one effortless motion of the wrist and handed the bottle to Hank, who raised it to his lips, wondering how much water he'd need to wash away the alcohol and somehow salvage this mess of a day.

"I'm going to call an early lunch," Connor explained. He walked over to the box in the corner and opened it, pulling out the bottle of whiskey and frowning at it. "I'm getting rid of this. I thought you could be trusted to drink responsibly, but I was wrong." The disapproval in Connor's tone cut Hank to the core, and he realized how much he'd let the android down. It would have been better to refuse the task outright than to have fucked up like this and disappointed his partner.

He finished the water bottle and crushed it in his hand, tossing it towards a nearby trash can. Far from scoring a basket from the three-point line, he missed spectacularly and the bottle bounced off the can to hit Connor as he walked in.

"Sorry," Hank said. "About everythin'. I really fucked up, didn't I?"

Connor handed over a cheeseburger and fries. "These aren't exactly healthy, but a full stomach will help you sober up. We can still avoid a disaster, Hank, but you need to reduce your blood alcohol level and get back out there."

"Connor, it's over. I'm done. There's no way I can fix this." Hank took a bite out of the cheeseburger and had to admit it wasn't bad. It wasn't Gary's burger, but it was still premium meat, with all the trimmings—just how he liked it. Knowing Connor, he'd probably scanned his meals just to take note of his preferences.

"I've calculated that it should be possible to appear cognizant enough by the end of this hour to resume your duties," Connor explained. "If you can cope for two more hours, the event will be over and nobody else but you and I will ever know this incident occurred."

"Why would you cover for me?" Hank asked.

"I told you," Connor said. "I've got your back. Besides, this is all my fault. I was the one who asked Fowler to pick you. He had his reservations, but I told him it would be a positive experience for you. I'm sorry, Hank."

"You were just trying to help." Hank shook his head. "I fucked it all up, like usual. I'm sorry about what I said. About Gavin and shit."

"Why do you think I would be interested in him?" Connor asked. "Detective Reed has treated me with nothing less than total disrespect from the first day I joined the DPD. I did not deviate in order to endure such treatment willingly."

"S'good to hear," Hank said, "but I shouldn't have implied it in the first place. Just good old sour grapes gettin' in the way, I guess."

"Sour grapes, Lieutenant?"

"It's an expression… It means to be jealous," Hank explained. "You have sour grapes when you're jealous."

"You are jealous… of my hostile relationship with Detective Reed?" Connor's face was the picture of confusion. Hank had to admit it was cute.

"No, no!" Hank sighed. He was still way too drunk to be having this conversation, and yet it was one he knew he'd never summon the courage to have sober. "It's nothin'. Forget I said anything." He finished his meal and put the boxes aside. Connor cleaned up the mess. He took a napkin and wiped ketchup from Hank's beard. Hank grasped his hand and kept it there, staring into his eyes for a long moment.

He was beautiful. But Connor deserved better. He deserved someone sober. Someone with a good career ahead of them, instead of in the rearview mirror. Someone to share his hopes and dreams with.

Hank let go of his hand. "Thanks," he muttered. "I think I can go back out there, now. Just… stay close, all right?"

***

The rest of the event went surprisingly well, all things considered. Hank was happy to see the line thin out as Chris stopped new families from entering the event area, and when the last child jumped down from his lap, he wasn't sorry to see her go. He'd had enough of children for a while. He'd forgotten how exhausting they could be with their constant demands in the perfect history he'd painted of Cole in his mind. Memories had a way of framing everything through rose-colored glasses, erasing the dirty diapers, the constant exhaustion, and the poverty that came with being a parent in favor of the best and brightest moments.

Of course Cole had been the brightest star in his life, and he always would be, but there was something about being reminded of the harsh realities of parenthood that had helped, somehow. Seeing the kids with the parents had helped him remember the entirety of Cole's life, instead of the romanticized version of events he liked to remember. Parenthood—especially after the divorce—had often been difficult and tiring, and though he would turn over Heaven and Earth to go back in time and save his little boy, the fact that it was impossible meant he could start focusing on himself. Starting with his drinking. He had to get himself into an addiction treatment program. He'd told himself for so long that he was hurting nobody but himself, but the flash of pain in Connor's eyes had revealed that it simply wasn't true—at least not any more.

He waved goodbye to the children and walked back to the cabin, glad to find he could walk on his own two feet without swaggering any more. Connor was already inside, still dressed in his elf outfit. He held out the paper bag with the whiskey bottle in it to Hank.

"I thought you got rid of it," Hank said. He took the bag and pulled out the whiskey, taking a good long look at the bottle. Connor probably expected him to take a sip and drown his sorrows, but he'd never had a less appealing thought, even as it called to him like a siren song. He walked over to the trash can and dumped the bottle and bag inside.

"Hank?" Connor's voice was soft, but inquisitive.

"You said it yourself. I've gotta stop drinking. It's harmful to my health." He turned back to look at Connor. "Not to mention my job, and my relationships with other people." He let out a long sigh, the bottle calling to him, even now. "I'm sorry for what I said to you."

"I've been thinking about that," Connor said. "Were you insinuating you were jealous of Detective Reed, because you assumed I harbor some kind of romantic or sexual attraction to him?"

"Somethin' like that." Hank scratched the back of his neck, heat rising to his cheeks. The cat was out of the bag now, and there was no stuffing it back in. "I like you, Connor. More than like you. But you deserve better than me."

"Hank, I love you just the way—"

"No. Let me finish, Connor. I want to be a better man, so I feel like I deserve that love. I want to be the kind of man you believe I am, not this sad, old alcoholic with unresolved issues that I take out on other people. I'm going to check into rehab as soon as we get outta here."

Connor crossed the room, closing the distance between them. He touched Hank's face, and Hank leaned into the sensation of Connor's fingers touching his beard. He didn't resist as Connor moved in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around the android and deepening the brush of lips into a passionate French kiss, savoring the way Connor was so eager to wrestle with his tongue, as if he wanted to explore and possess every inch of Hank's body. Hank kept the kiss going long after he needed to breathe, kissing Connor like this might be the very last time.

Eventually, Hank pulled away, desperate for air. He wanted nothing more to surrender to Connor and dive in for another kiss, but he knew he'd lose his resolve if he let himself have everything he wanted before he made any improvements in his life. It seemed cruel to make Connor wait, and yet Connor deserved a man who wouldn't say mean things to him while drunk. He deserved to know the Hank who'd been a skilled cop, the Hank who'd been a good father, the Hank he'd been before grief and depression had consumed his waking hours. Perhaps he'd never quite be that man again, but he could try.

"Will you wait for me to come back?" Hank asked.

"I've waited this long," Connor explained. "I can wait a few more weeks." He rested his head on Hank's shoulder, and Hank pulled him into a tight hug, stroking his hair and marveling at how silky soft it was. It was a miracle to think this beautiful boy had eyes for him, and had been admiring him for a while. "I'll drive you to the clinic, if you like. I'll take care of Sumo while you're away."

"Yeah, absolutely. Maybe you can do me a favor and throw out all my alcohol?" Hank closed his eyes. _And never leave_ , he thought, planting a soft kiss on Connor's ear and enjoying the way he shivered beneath Hank's caress.

That was a future he wanted to fight for, so he took off his Santa hat and walked behind the screen, peeking out just long enough to get a look at Connor's ass through those pantyhose one more time. There would be time for all that. Right now, he needed to do what he should have done a long time ago. For Connor's sake. For his own.

He was finally going to get sober, and when he got home, hopefully Connor would be waiting for him under the mistletoe.

**Author's Note:**

> I love to receive comments and kudos, or you can follow me on Twitter @landale!


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